A Drunken Haze
by SkippingSteppingStones
Summary: After the events of The Last Jedi, Rey attempts to drown her sorrows with alcohol. The results are not what she hoped. ONESHOT


Spoilers: The Last Jedi

Headcanons: Autistic Force sensitives, (briefly) accepting that Rey's not a Skywalker

Trigger Warnings: Alcohol

AUs: Luke survives The Last Jedi

::

It'd been a long day, Poe had told her. She was flushed with success at saving what remained of the Resistance, and trembling with anxiety from the rest of the day. And he'd suggested a drink to calm her nerves.

It had probably been a friendly suggestion, she thought.

Only Rey had never drunk before. On Jakku, just getting water was difficult enough, and she'd considered booze to be something that only the rich and the extremely stupid would partake of. So, since it had been provided for her, and she had only heard tell of its nerve-calming ability, she'd dove into it with gusto. The taste wasn't much for her, until Poe had directed her attention to the fruit flavoured cocktails, and drunkenly giggled something about them being stronger.

 _Those_ had tasted good. Fruit was still new to her, in terms of being a readily available thing, and the cocktails had been full of it, with powdered sugar around the edge of the glasses, and oodles more really sweetening the alcohol.

Finn had tried to warn her off drinking too many, but she'd waved him off with a laugh and a reassurance that she was a Jedi, and Jedi could surely hold their alcohol.

Now, on the _Falcon_ , she was learning that it was not an intrinsic skill.

Actually, she'd been learning that lesson for a solid few hours. She groaned, swaying onto the game table and laying perfectly still, hoping it'd shut her stomach up. Everyone'd been so worried. Even though he seemed as drunk as she was, Poe had become protective of her, doing his drunken best to shuffle her to someone who could do a better job of helping her. He'd managed to get her to Leia, who'd waved him off to get some sleep, muttering about hotshots and alcohol.

The general had made her drink glass after glass of water, until Rey felt even worse than she had before being brought to her, and Rey had accepted each one. Leia knew what she was doing. And she'd sat with Rey, rubbing her shoulders, and helping her to the bathroom when she needed it.

Rey hadn't been able to stop thinking about Ren, and she seethed and shook with anger, repeatedly interpreted by Leia as chills. Or maybe Leia knew. The old woman seemed to be able to tell anything about Rey that she wanted to, in a heartbeat, and Rey began to doubt Luke's claim that he was the last Jedi.

When she'd tried to shunt Rey off to a bed in the little hotel they'd rented, Rey had finally pulled herself away. She couldn't take being coddled and cared for by Ren's mother anymore. He'd been so _lucky_ , to have a parent who loved him! Two parents, even, before he had kriffing gone and _killed_ one of them! And he'd tried to kill Leia today, and Rey was furious with herself for not letting Snoke's guards kill him.

She'd managed to fight Leia off, and stumble back to the _Falcon_. She knew Leia had really let her go, and that she'd explicitly sent Chewie after her to keep an eye on her. It didn't matter. At least she was away from Leia's care, and didn't have to think of Ren throwing that all away.

And for what! She punched at the table, and felt Chewie's huge hairy hands under her arms, hauling her up. What had he gained for what he'd done! A master he'd killed as well, and an order that couldn't even fully wipe his enemies out!

Her feet dragged pathetically along the floor, and Chewie gave up on trying to let her walk, lifting her from the ground and cradling her to his chest. Without hesitation, she let her face fall to his chest, sheltering in the familiar smell of a living being's fur.

At least Luke would be properly mad at her. He'd clearly taken what she'd said to heart, and was trying to be the legend the galaxy wanted again, and then she'd gone and squandered any awe he'd built up for the Jedi by drinking herself into absolute confusion.

She wanted to be yelled at, and told that she'd made an ass of herself, that she'd acted unacceptably.

But his voice, when it came, wasn't angry. He shouted her name, not in annoyance, but in concern, and she heard him clambering down the steps towards Chewie as the wookiee stepped out from under the _Falcon_ , and rain began to spatter them both.

"Rey!"

Chewie barked back at him, and Rey flinched as his hands landed on her shoulders.

She couldn't feel anger from him. He was just worried, even as he nodded at Chewie's assurances.

"Come on, Rey," he said, and Chewie slowly lowered her to the ground, releasing her into his arms. "How do you feel?" he asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

Rey moaned, feeling sullen, and rolled against his chest. How she felt didn't matter. She'd disgraced herself, and him by association, and she wasn't anyone important anyway. She'd destroyed a part of the Jedi monument! Didn't he _remember_ that?

"Shh," he whispered, tucking his arms over her as her legs trembled. "Shh…"

She let out a sob, finally.

She'd kept it together while drinking, telling herself to enjoy the treat, and she'd kept it together while Leia cared for her, because Leia's day had been hard enough already. She'd not cried in the _Falcon_ , because it would have done her no good anyway, but now she was lying in Luke's arms, and crying.

"Alright," he said, his voice gravely in its new softness, and Rey felt that he knew everything that was hurting her. He turned her to walk, and she clung to him, not wanting to move her legs. They weren't cooperating anyway, he was practically holding her up…

"Come on, Rey," he said, pulling her along, slowly enough that she could get her feet under herself.

If she wanted to.

The scratching against her ankles hurt, and she knew she'd be bloodied and bruised by the next day, but she deserved to hurt. She didn't deserve his arms around her, and she wanted Unkar yelling at her to get a move on, before he fed her to the desert. That was what she was. That was what she deserved. She was a scavenger and a foundling and not a Jedi, and Luke had seen that _before,_ why couldn't he see it _now?_

"Catching a cold won't help anyone," he said gently, and Rey felt him grasp her ankles with the Force, his arm around her tightening as he tried to guide her feet to make her walk.

"Whas it ma'er?" she mumbled miserably. She was a nobody, she didn't deserve to be held by the Jedi. He should just find another student, who wouldn't embarrass the whole concept of Jedi by their mere existence.

"It matters," he said calmly, lifting her feet too much to clear the steps he was leading her up.

She retched at the exaggerated motion, and swung into his chest again, shaking.

"Alright." He lowered her gently to the ground, and crouched next to her, waiting for her discomfort to ease.

She shook her head. The rain felt good, washing away the flush of heat in her head, but it was unfamiliar, alien, taking the last of her old life – her _real_ life – with it. It wasn't alright. She felt like a little girl all over again, confused that her parents had left her and desperately wanting normalcy back.

"Take deep breaths," he told her, and she barely trembled as his hand gripped her shoulder, rubbing it firmly as if he could infuse her with strength again.

She did her best to take one, and gasped on tears, pulling away from him. For a second, she thought he'd hold onto her, but he let her go, worry etched in what was visible of his face.

She felt so wretched.

As if, by failing to kill Ren, she was responsible for all his pain, as well as his sister's, and the galaxy's.

She shakily lay herself face-down on the rocks, curling in the rain, and half-wondering what the porgs would do when they found her here.

She just wanted the rain to come, and come, until it washed her all away to sea. To the cave where she hadn't been afraid enough, and the ocean that scared her in its vastness.

Wash her away, like so many alcohol stains.

"Come on," Luke said again, and now some of the patience was gone, and his hands were on her waist trying to lift her again.

She shifted her weight, trying to let all her weight melt into her hands and feet, making herself as difficult to move as possible.

He should just leave her. It wasn't as if the rain really _would_ release her. She was solid and human, but disposable, if the porgs did have a taste for flesh. Disposable, if the desert got a taste of her blood. Disposable, if she could be traded for something sweeter in the moment.

"Dunno what they liked 'bout it so much," she mumbled, and Luke gave up trying to cajole her to her feet, letting her slide back to her puddle on the damp ground.

"What who liked?" he asked, and she wanted to curse, and scream, and tell him that it didn't matter, that he was all that mattered!

"My parents," she whispered instead.

She wanted the rain to take the words away. She didn't want him to hear. Wash them away, like stains on her life, and wash her away, like the stains on theirs.

She clenched her fist, a small pebble finding its way to her palm, and sharp grit grating at her knuckles, "And alcohol."

He sighed, and she heard him settle himself next to her, before his rough cloak was rested over her shoulders. And oh, how badly she needed the rain. But how comfortable to feel his worry.

"I'm no one," she whispered, looking up at him, her eyes aching from crying. "I'm easy money."

"Shh," he said, stroking her hair behind her ears, cupping her head in his palm.

As the prosthetic neared her, a not-yet-forgotten part of her mind calculated the meals she could get for such nice machinery.

Her parents had seen their daughter as free alcohol, and now she looked at her teacher, one of the first people to care for her, and instinctively saw him as ration packs.

But she wouldn't sell him, she swore to herself, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn't calculate the worth of each tiny bolt. She would never sell him, she needed him, and the galaxy needed him, and his hand in her hair felt so real, a dream she'd had made corporeal.

Unlike her parents, she'd see more than an urge in the moment. Unlike them, she'd hide in his warmth, and know she was safe and that he was worth more than some stupid food.

Yes, she thought, a hard, aching determination congealing in her heart, she'd give her life for him. She was nothing, so it was for her to keep him, the galaxy's hope, safe.

"Stop being stupid," he chastised her, pulling his cloak up over her shoulder.

"I'm not-!" she denied, rolling awkwardly onto her back, the chill of the rain soaking into her bare skin, and sticking her sash to her legs. She opened her eyes, watching the rain fall, all seeming to miss her, projectiles thrust at the ground with vigor but no purpose.

"Now you're going to hurt yourself." He sounded exasperated, and Rey found herself unable to bat his hand aside as he raised it to shelter her eyes from the rain. "It sounds like you're having a bad day."

"It wasn't even good," she complained. "The old woman at the bar _lied_ to me."

At that, he chuckled, and as he tried to roll her onto his shoulder to lift her, she didn't struggle. "Old women at bars can have strange tastes, sometimes."

She giggled sickly, and scrambled for purchase in his tunic as he pulled her up.

For a few steps, she just tried to match his pace, clinging to him and trying to obey his gentle commands.

"It's bad," she whimpered finally.

"I know," he said.

"I destroyed the room you gave me," she said. She didn't want him mad at her, anymore, she didn't think. But there would be consequences.

He laughed. "'Gave' is a strong word for how that transaction went down."

She burned with shame, but held on fast. He couldn't let her go now. She was going to protect him, and make him come back to Leia for _real_ this time!

"I was an ass," he said, and she heard a door creak as the rain on her head stopped. "You were just off your planet, I should've _given_ you a room."

She looked up, and though the room swirled around her, she could _just_ tell that it was the same room she'd seen through the crack when he'd told her to leave, again and again.

"No," she protested, releasing his tunic and scrambling unsteadily back. She was to protect _him_ , and she'd hardly be doing that by taking his bed.

"It's a bigger hut." He rolled his eyes, and as Rey stumbled, she saw that there were at least… yes, that the beds swimming in her gaze… there must've been at least… two…

"Force, you're really out of it," he laughed again, and they made a collaborative effort for a final burst of strength that let her land on the spare bed.

She landed uncomfortably, her head spinning, and feeling like retching again.

"This is _terrible_ ," she complained, clumsily trying to get comfortable. "I might sell a child to _avoid_ feeling like this."

He chuckled, reclaiming his cloak, and then her sodden sash, offering her a bundle of his own clothes, and turning away so she could change. "Might have to do with the Force. I always feel dreadful." He paused for a second, as if contemplating. "Leia holds her alcohol pretty well, though."

Clumsily, without standing, or even sitting more than she had to, she got the pants on, and his shirt on backwards. He was bigger than she, she decided, scrambling uselessly at her back in an attempt to get it done up. It was never going to look as though she _belonged_ in a Jedi's robes.

Finally, she gave up, falling back to the bed, and a tremor went through her. She was cold. It was the planet, and the rain, and the alcohol, and she felt just terrible –

"I want my mom," she croaked. She'd used to think that constantly. If she was having a bad day on the desert, and wasn't sure she'd make it home before dark, or when she was trapped in her home by storms, or Unkar gave her unfair deals. Ever since she'd been abandoned. _I want my mom_ , or, _I wanna go home._

When life was hard, or complicated, those phrases were easy. _I want to go home_.

Luke made a soft sound, and turned back to her, drawing blankets over her, before settling down beside her, a half-familiar presence.

"I know you do."

"I shouldn't want her," Rey mumbled, daring to reach out and grasp his pant leg, needing some warmth, some human contact in place of the parents she'd counted on baselessly for so long.

"But you do."

His voice was warm, and she knew he understood. She wondered which of the ramblings she'd heard were true, whether he really had been a foundling as well, only to discover that his father had not only left him, but destroyed the galaxy as well.

"I do," she choked. She wanted to see her mother, to curse at her, to shout that she'd needed her, to just know what she'd looked like. "Ren said they're both dead."

He nodded, caressing her shoulder, and drawing her against his knee. Shakily, she lifted her head, pressing it into his leg, wanting to feel his warmth to reassure her that she was not like her parents, cold in a grave.

"I want my mom."

He stroked her hair gently, pulling another blanket over her, and tucking her more safely in a cocoon of warmth.

"I need you to think about something else," he told her, stroking her hair again.

She could do that, she decided. She could think about his hand, and its soft chill as it brushed against her ear, and the way he was reassuring her with it. She could think about its mechanics, and try to puzzle out the way it moved so smoothly. And she let herself think of the rations it would be worth, and she let herself think of him taking her hand, and leading her away from her mother as if she was a little girl again.

"Was your father-?" she tried to ask, but the words got lost on the way to her mouth, tangled in a miasma of the parents she was trying not to think of.

"Vader?" Luke chuckled. "Yes, he was."

"He abandoned you," Rey whispered, rolling her head to look up at him.

"Did more than that."

Luke raised his hand, and moved his fingers slightly, and Rey watched the mechanics work, her eyes too unfocused to really catch anything, before she reached up and took his hand, bringing it down so she could have a look.

Obligingly, he continued moving his fingers, sporadic at first, a slow curling and uncurling, then becoming more rhythmic. She watched the pistons, and remembered trying to clean equipment to run so smoothly, and took comfort in a job well done.

"It's well ma-m…maiten…" she gave up on the word. It was too slow to come, anyway.

"As you said, I'm not busy." He stopped moving his hand for her, and slowly withdrew it. She half wanted to grasp it, and refuse to let him take away her distraction, but she let it go.

"I messed up your display," she mumbled.

"You got drunk after the shock of a lifetime. I understand. I got drunk as hell after finding out about my father."

She gave him a watery smile, which he returned, his eyes sparkling.

"And I'd done it before, and already knew I'd hate it."

She gave a little giggle, and he carefully pushed a pillow under her head, shifting her back from his leg.

"The old Jedi had rules against drinking. Han said they were draconian." Luke slowly stood, arranging her limbs away from himself. "I think they might've been self-preservation."

She gave another tired giggle, and he smiled again, giving her hair a final stroke.

"Try to sleep well, okay? We've got a lot of training to do, tomorrow."

Rey made a wordless sound of pure distress, trying to push herself upright. She couldn't do training, she felt _awful!_

"This is Jedi training," he told her, pushing her back down. "Not summer camp."

Rey whimpered again, but he had turned away, and headed for his own bunk, and she knew the conversation was over. She pulled her blankets close again, and closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep, so as to have at least some energy for tomorrow.

And Luke, on his part, decided to take mercy on a hurting child, and let her sleep in.


End file.
